


To Wish Impossible Things

by Overlimits



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, medically unsound at-home healthcare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlimits/pseuds/Overlimits
Summary: Noctis gets sick. Prompto is tasked with taking care of him. Prompto proceeds to have a well-earned panic attack.





	To Wish Impossible Things

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of self-indulgent fluff I just had to get out. These boys. <3

 

Prompto doesn’t often get visitors. Almost never, actually. In fact, he can’t think of the last time he’d heard a knock at his door, _especially_ since moving to his own modest place after he’d graduated high school— at least before there had been the occasional person looking to speak to one of his parents. Now, it’s pretty much just deliveries.

 

And he’s racking his brain trying to think if he’d ordered anything lately, because he’s honestly baffled by the sound for a moment. Maybe someone had the wrong apartment?

 

He shuffles off the couch towards the door with a slightly annoyed groan, though he puts on a pleasant face before pulling it open, mouth already open to form the words _I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong place—_

 

Instead, he finds himself staring at the crown prince of Lucis.

 

This is odd for several reasons. The first being: Noct never knocks. He texts and says he’s coming over so that the door’s already open, or they’re already together when they get back to the apartment, or they’re hanging out at his place instead. The second being: Noct looks like he’s rolled out of the wrong side of several beds; his hair is mussed and his clothes are rumpled, he isn’t carrying a bag, he’s just… _there._ The third being: Noct also looks like _shit._ There are dark circles under his eyes, he’s pale, there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. To complete the look, Noct’s face suddenly crumples up and he yanks an arm to his nose and mouth, violently sneezing into his sleeve.

 

The sight immediately thaws Prompto’s confused freeze, and he opens the door more fully, ushering Noctis inside. “Get in here, get in here,” he lightly chides, “Dude, you look _awful._ Did you sleepwalk here or something? You should be at your place if you’re sick.”

 

“My place’s annoying,” Noctis grumbles sullenly, syllables affected by congestion, and Prompto tries really hard not to let his lips quirk up in amusement. It’s not entirely successful, going by the grumpy frown on Noct’s face, and Prompto breathes a soft, apologetic laugh.

 

“Sorry,” he says, briefly rubbing a hand between the other boy’s shoulders before Noctis sinks to the couch with a groan, “Why, wasn’t Ignis around to take care of you?”

 

Noctis makes another face, shaking his head. “That was the problem. He was hovering. Getting your temperature taken every hour’s just aggravating.”

 

Prompto snickers a bit, dropping down to the couch next to him. “I guess that’s his job, though. Wouldn’t look good if the crown prince died of a cold on his watch.” Noctis snorts a bit, leaning over enough to let his head fall heavily onto Prompto’s shoulder, and Prompto flushes a tiny bit, pleased— he’ll take the bit of amusement as a victory. “Of course, if you die on _me_ , I’ll _really_ be in trouble.”

 

“Mm. Exile.”

 

“Probably execution.”

 

“Guess you better not let me die, then.”

 

Prompto starts a bit, angling away to look at Noctis skeptically, even as he frowns (cutely, Prompto can’t help but think) and tries to get his head back onto Prompto’s shoulder— and, failing that, tilts in the other direction to half-lie on the couch with a _flump_. “Wait, you want _me_ to take care of you? I’ve— dude, I can barely take care of _myself_ when I’m sick, I don’t know how to—“

 

Noctis waves a hand dismissively, before groaning a bit and covering his eyes with his arm. “Whatever, just don’t take my temperature a hundred times a day. It’s fine.”

 

Prompto puffs a cheek out briefly, trying to hold onto the bit of exasperation he’d managed to work up, but… he softens almost immediately, looking down at the boy folded on his couch, looking uncomfortable and miserable. It’s not like it can be that hard, right? Noct would probably sleep most of the time anyway…

 

He sighs a bit, and apparently the sound is defeated enough that Noctis catches on, as his lips quirk into a small half-smile of victory. Prompto leans over, sliding his arm around the other boy’s back, dragging him back up into a sitting position— “I swear, Noct, if you get me sick I’m going to make you _really_ regret it,” he says, grudgingly conceding— before tugging him upward, trying to get him back to his feet. Noctis makes it difficult, protesting the motion with a whine, but he finally slings an arm around Prompto’s shoulders and lets himself be pulled up. (Prompto has the distinct feeling that Noctis is deeply overplaying his hand; after all, he’d _walked_ here on his own. But he can’t bring himself to call him on it. Not yet, at least. Maybe once they aren’t pressed together from shoulder to hip, arms looped across each other.)

 

They maneuver into Prompto’s modest bedroom, where Noctis unceremoniously drops into the unmade bed, straight across its width. Prompto snorts a bit again, shaking his head— it’s a bit pathetic, really, but the apparent misery in his face sells it. “Come on, at least take your shoes off,” he chides, crouching down without a second thought to unlace the usual black boots.

 

Noctis shifts a bit, just enough to look down at Prompto as he works, and something about it sends a small jolt through his body— embarrassment? Something like it, at least— he scowls a bit, entirely too aware of the light flush of heat in his cheeks (always too easy to blush, damnit) while being entirely _un_ aware of why it’s there. He pulls Noctis’ boots off with a slightly less-than-gentle motion, setting them at the foot of the bed, before pushing himself up and somewhat forcefully rearranging the lazy prince so that he’s at _least_ lying with his head on the pillows, legs up on the mattress.

 

“Ow,” Noctis says, though it’s a surprisingly casual complaint.

 

“It’s what you get for going ragdoll on me,” Prompto replies, standing up full and briefly thumping at his lower back with a fist, “Now bundle up, I’ll… I’ll go make you some soup. Or tea. Or something.”

 

 _That’s… what you do when people are sick, right?_ He’s aware that most of what he knows is hearsay and clichés, but _it’s ‘common knowledge’ for a reason, isn’t it?_ He pads into the kitchen with this nervous soundtrack of self-encouragement playing over and over in his head. It isn’t like he’ll make anything _worse_ , at least.

 

He scours his pantry, looking for anything even remotely appropriate, pushing past various convenience-store ready-to-eats and drink mixes before seizing onto a box of tea bags. He doesn’t really drink much tea, but it had seemed to him when he’d first picked up a few groceries for the new place that he should have some. Didn’t most people? He hadn’t even paid attention to the type.

 

He takes a mug and fills it with water, sticking it in the microwave and hitting a few buttons to get it warming, distractedly plucking a bag from the tea box and tearing the package open. He can hear Noct in the next room, shuffling around in the bed and sniffling— Prompto quietly lifts a hand up and presses it over his collarbones, fingers at the very base of his neck, an insecure motion if there ever was one. There’s something he can’t put his finger on here, something that's making his heart beat harder. Something about how… domestic, maybe, this feels. Like they’ve lived together for years, and this is just one of those mild inconveniences that one faces as a cou—

 

The microwave beeping makes him jolt, and he shakes himself out of his thoughts, quickly taking the mug out and tossing the bag into it. Honestly, Noct will probably be fine after he gets some sleep, so there's really no point in worrying so much about it. Always one for a backup plan, he supposes. Always checking his just-in-cases. Prompto walks the tea back over to his bedroom, glancing around the doorframe briefly to make sure Noctis hadn't already fallen asleep.

 

The way the late afternoon sunlight filters through the cheap linen curtains gives the room a dreamlike quality, making the shock of dark hair poking out from the comforter stand out sharply against the plain white and the softness of the pillow. Prompto’s heart seems to seize in his chest again as the full realization hits him very suddenly— Noctis is in his bed. _Noct_ is in his _bed_. How many times had he imagined this? Well, not exactly _this_ , but… but…

 

“Tea!” he hears (with some dismay) himself squeak out, making Noctis groan and turn his head, eyes squinted to slits against the light. Prompto lets out a sharp huff, inwardly chastising himself for acting like an idiot, before coming in and setting the mug down on the night stand. “S-sorry, were you sleeping? I thought something warm might help—“

 

He looks at the mug, and realizes two things: one, he’d torn the _bag_ as well as the package in his distraction, and tea leaves are floating limply in the water; two, it doesn’t even particularly look like it’s steeped at all. He helplessly presses his fingers to the body of the mug and finds it barely more than lukewarm.

 

Heart sinking a bit, he laughs, shaking his head, “But… never mind, this didn’t work at all. I’ll just— you can sleep, I’ll leave you alone—“

 

Prompto is cut off mid-sentence by a hand shooting out from under the blankets to snare his wrist (the left one, he tells himself through the small jolt of panic, the left and not the right). It’s a surprisingly strong grip for someone that’s sick, but Noct’s eyes are closed again, eyebrows still knitted together into a grumpy frown as he pulls Prompto towards the bed. “I don’t even like tea. Just get in here if you want me to have something warm.”

 

A hot flush rushes up into his face at the suggestion, despite the leap of his heart. It’s not actually that unusual; they’ve always been affectionate, and they’d even fallen asleep draped across each other before, but that had always been on couches or in corners of rooms they probably shouldn’t have been asleep in, not… there’s just something about it being Prompto’s _bed_ that makes it seem too intimate. (Even as badly as he wants that, he’s afraid of driving Noctis off. He’s afraid that’ll happen one of these days _anyway_ — something or another will probably do it— but he wants to stall that day for as long as its humanly possible.

 

… Still… if Noct is the one _making_ the offer, then… surely… ?)

 

He lets out a breath that he hopes sounds more confidently annoyed than flustered, slipping his feet out of his slippers and kicking them down towards the end of the bed by Noctis’ boots. “All right, all right, just— here, let go, and let me—“

 

Noctis shifts over a bit to give Prompto more room, and despite his racing heart, he climbs in beside him, laying on his back for lack of a better plan— and the other boy rolls over, throwing his arms around Prompto’s torso, under his arms, to rest his head on the soft place between shoulder and chest. Prompto starts a bit, but… it’s strangely sedating, having Noct where he is. His arms loop gently around him, hands linking together around his shoulder. Noctis’ hair tickles lightly just at the edge of Prompto’s jaw; it would take so little to lean his head just a bit to the side, press his lips to the crown of his head—

 

“What the hell,” Noctis mutters, giving Prompto’s heart a small guilty jolt (??? Noct couldn’t have read his mind!) before he finishes the thought, “Why is your bed so much more comfortable than mine? Where did you even get this?”

 

Prompto snorts out a bit of a laugh, half nervous energy and half honest amusement. “What? I don’t know, this place had stuff in it already when I moved in.”

 

“Not fair,” Noctis huffs, turning his face inward more against Prompto’s chest, “Trade me.”

 

“Hell no! I like this bed.”

 

“I could order you.”

 

“ _This_ is what you’re going to pull rank over?”

 

Noctis shakes a bit, silent laughter that follows into a short coughing fit. (He at least has the decency to cover his mouth.) Another groan follows, and he slumps further against Prompto, pulling the blankets up higher around them until even most of his face is covered.

 

Prompto absolutely cannot help the way he slides one hand up from Noct’s shoulder in order to affectionately ruffle his hair, glancing sympathetically down at him, voice a bit softer when he speaks again, “Noct, go to sleep. You’ll feel better if you just rest.”

 

A half-hearted but agreeing noise is his only response; Prompto listens silently as Noctis’ breathing slowly becomes more even, deeper, and feels as the tension slowly melts out of his muscles. It’s hypnotic in a way; he feels as though if he tried, he could time his breath to Noctis’, their chests rising and lowering in tandem, as though they’re one unit.

 

His own eyes are beginning to droop when he hears Noctis, murmuring as though he’s far away, already half-absorbed in dreams, “Why’s your heart beating so hard?”

 

There’s only so many ways to answer that question, and exactly none of them are anything he can actually _say._ So instead, Prompto smiles faintly, shaking his head just a tiny bit. “Sleep.”

 

—————

 

He’s not entirely sure when he’d dozed off himself, but when Prompto slowly rouses, it’s dark in the room, save for the light pouring in from the door, and the faintest purple tint to the dim light from the window. He can’t tell whether it’s only been a couple of hours, or if they’d slept straight through to sunrise, but he’s also not entirely sure it _matters._ Noctis hasn’t moved much from where he’d curled up against him; his breath is slow and quiet, interrupted only by an occasional hitch from his sinuses.

 

It’s almost unbearably sweet. Prompto allows himself, in his sleepy state, the indulgence of pretending that this is absolutely usual— as though they _always_ fall asleep together in this bed, comfortably wrapped around each other.

 

The moment fades with a small twitch in Prompto’s back; he tries to shift as slowly as possible, as not to wake the boy sleeping on his shoulder, but the motion takes its toll and Noctis half-blinks, making a small noise in the back of his throat and reaching up to press the heel of his palm against one eye. (It’s horribly cute.)

 

“Sorry,” Prompto murmurs, as softly as he can, just on the off chance that Noctis is still half-asleep and might just doze back off again.

 

Noctis gives a dismissive little wave, rolling over and out of Prompto’s arms with a yawn. “…’m hungry,” he mumbles, before the shift in position catches up with him and another wave of coughing briefly overcomes him. “Damn… throat hurts. This sucks.”

 

Prompto springs up, excited just for the idea to go off of, anything that might _help._ “I’ll get you something! Something that’ll make you feel better. You just— stay there and rest, I’ll— yeah. Just a minute!”

 

He’s back out in the kitchen with a slightly-too-quick step before idly wondering exactly what his plan _is_ here. He’d been so eager to get to the ‘make Noct feel better’ part of the proceedings that he hadn’t thought about what he might actually _feed_ him. Well, chicken soup is supposed to help, right? Maybe— he paws through the pantry again, and again he comes up mostly empty, but… well. Cup Noodle kind of counts. It’s soup, it’s chicken… flavored? Close enough. More water goes into the microwave (which reads 20:22; so they’d only dozed for a couple of hours after all) to heat, and this time he makes sure to put it on long enough to _actually get hot_. Ugh.

 

Prompto idly peels the paper lid back, shaking the cup back and forth a bit without thinking much about it, to move the powder down so he can tip the dried vegetables into the sink. It’s just something he innately knows about Noct— vegetables are pretty much out to begin with, but carrots are just unforgivable.

 

Once he’s got it soaking, he takes it back into the other room, setting it on the nightstand next to the failed tea, fork sitting across the top. He flips the bedside light on, filling the room with dim yellow light, and sits down on the edge of the bed, gazing at Noct’s back facing him.

 

A helpless, powerful urge rises in his chest— one he’s had before, often— the urge to _protect_ him. It’s hardly that he thinks of Noct as incapable, or even fragile, god, not at all, it’s just… sometimes… he wishes he could take away everything that makes him hurt. Every stress of who he _is_ , every inadequacy he feels, everything that seeks to take away the easy, warm smile that Prompto has fallen so deeply in love with. He’d do _anything_ for that smile.

 

His mouth opens, lips forming words that don’t make it past them, before he lets out a breath of a chuckle and shakes his head. “Noct, soup~” he sing-songs instead, making Noctis shift back around to face him.

 

Noctis blinks blearily, glancing at the bedside table as though ready to reject whatever’d been brought to him, but he visibly recognizes the label and nods a bit. Still, he doesn’t move much further, a light frown knitting his eyebrows together. “Can’t you just pour it in my mouth or something?”

 

Prompto snorts a bit. “I think you’d be pretty pissed off at me if I poured boiling noodles on your face, dude.”

 

“Fine, fine,” the prince sighs, pushing himself up with a groan, shifting around so he’s mostly sitting upright, and grabs the cup from the nightstand like it’s the most effort he’s ever exerted in his life. Eyes still half-mast, he peels the lid back, and sticks the fork in, swirling the noodles around in the salty broth for a moment— before pausing, eyebrows lifting up a bit. “You took the carrots and stuff out?” he asks, in strangely honest surprise.

 

Prompto falters slightly, not entirely sure where the response is coming from, and defaults to assuming he’d done something wrong. “Oh, I thought— sorry, I thought you didn’t want them. I can make another one—“

 

“No, no,” Noctis cuts him off, still with the same tone, “No, I didn’t, just…” It seems to take him a second to process something, before he finishes the thought, a little bit of a smile pulling the corners of his mouth upward, “…Thanks.”

 

“Ah…” A small chuckle bubbles up from Prompto’s chest, half-awkward-half-charmed— the combination of the unexpected gratitude and that smile brings a flustered blush up into his cheeks, hopefully hidden by the dim light in the room. “No problem.”

 

——

 

Noctis is already nodding off again before he’s even finished the soup, and Prompto helps him readjust back down again to let him sleep. (He’s already defeatedly accepted that he’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.)

 

He unsuccessfully fights the urge to push a stray lock of hair out of Noct’s face, but he doesn’t chastise himself for it too harshly, justifying it by gently pressing the backs of his fingers to the other boy’s forehead, testing. A bit clammy still, but fairly neutral on temperature. That’s a good sign, right?

 

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” Prompto says, getting up and turning the light off— though lingering for a moment near the door for reasons he doesn’t dwell on. “…Night, Noct.”

 

Noctis doesn’t answer. Prompto smiles a little, somewhere between fond and melancholy, before quietly shutting the door behind him.

 

——

 

Noctis is not better in the morning. Quite to the contrary, in fact; even in the warm sunlight spilling across the blankets, he’s shuddering underneath them, curled into himself as though to conserve heat.

 

Prompto is idly concerned that he actually _will_ be up for execution at this rate, though he can certainly handle one thing at a time here.

 

He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning over and pushing Noctis’ hair back with more confidence than he had the night before, resting his hand across the other boy’s forehead. Definitely warm, and not just in that just-woke-up sort of way. Not good. He feels the muscles under his fingers pull together in a frown, before Noctis turns over a bit, blinking a couple of times up at Prompto.

 

“Don’t take my temperature,” he immediately complains, making an exasperated sort of laugh puff out from Prompto’s mouth. It’s reassuring, in a way. Noctis can’t be _too_ sick if he’s still being a brat.

 

“I don’t think I even need to,” he says, pushing his hand back to stroke sympathetically back through Noctis’ hair, “You’re definitely too warm. The hell did you even catch?”

 

“How should I know? Lots of people work in the Citadel, it could be anything.” Noctis frowns again, pulling the blankets up to his chin and tucking up tighter, shivering, shutting his eyes. “‘Too warm’ my ass, I’m _freezing._ ”

 

Prompto frowns a little bit himself, continuing to just… run his fingers through Noctis’ hair, hoping to be _comforting_ in some way. He doesn’t know how to do this— he’s never taken care of another person before. (Much less anyone he cares this deeply about.) There’s no magic words he can say, no particular thing he can give, that will make Noctis feel better any faster than his illness feels like taking, and it’s… a strangely powerless feeling. “What can I do?” he finally asks, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as helpless as he does in his own head, “What’ll help? I’ll get anything you want.”

 

Noctis takes in a slow breath, and exhales it in a deep sigh, eyes levering partway open again, looking at nothing in particular. His expression rides the border between uncomfortable, troubled, and maybe even a tiny bit contrite, though it fades back to something more neutral when he turns his gaze back up to Prompto. “Run a bath for me? I just want to get _warm_ ,” he says— and Prompto can’t help but note that he is _asking_ rather than demanding. That really shouldn’t soften him as much as it does, but… well, there it is.

 

“Sure,” Prompto answers, smiling reassuringly, “Sit tight for a sec.”

 

(He’s slightly loathe to stop stroking through Noctis’ hair, fingers warm and tingling just slightly from the constant, mild friction, and it feels like a connection— a new one, somehow. Still, he forces himself to pull away, not wanting to push too far, to take advantage of Noctis’ weakened state in any way whatsoever. It’s just… hard.)

 

A few moments later, Prompto’s in his small but functional bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub while it fills up with pleasantly warm water. After testing it a few times to make _sure_ that the temperature’s right, and setting out a couple of towels within arm’s reach, he calls out, “Noct, it’s almost ready, come on over.”

 

A rustle of blankets and a loud, complaining groan is the only response he gets, and he can’t help but snort out a brief chuckle. Why, again, had he thought that this would be easy? Shutting off the tap, he pushes up and pads back to his room, leaning on the doorframe with folded arms to look in at Noctis, who’d only managed to flip over onto his stomach with one arm dangling off the bed.

 

“Do I have to drag you?”

 

“Mm.” (The noncommittal noise is so _Noct_ , it’s almost disgusting.)

 

Prompto sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as he walks over, pulling the blankets back (though feeling slightly bad for the frown and shiver that follows) and grabbing Noctis’ arm, pulling him up into a sitting position before sitting beside him to sling that arm over his shoulder to steady him. “All right, here we go,” he says, pushing up and pulling Noctis up with him, half-deadweight hanging from his shoulder, “Come on, one foot in front of the other. I’m not carrying you!”

 

“Fiiiiine,” Noctis whines, taking steps that are so slow and exaggerated that by the time they reach the bathroom, they’re both shaking with laughter.

 

Fighting the amusing thought to push Noct into the tub fully clothed, Prompto releases him with a grin, dusting his hands off like he’d completed some major task. “Bath’s probably cold by now,” he teases—

 

—and the last word gets choked off by Noctis pulling his shirt off over his head with little warning, tossing it to the ground. For a second, Prompto’s struck silent, eyes following all the enticing lines of his back, before a flush of heat rushes up into his face and he forces himself to look away. Clearing his throat a bit, he nods sharply. “Right, I’ll be out in the living room.”

 

“Wait, help me in,” Noctis says, entirely too casually for the fact that he’s _still removing his clothing,_ his pants slipping from his hips to fall to the floor beside his shirt now, and Prompto stares viciously at the counter just for something, _anything_ else to look at, “I’m still dizzy, I might slip.”

 

“Seriously?” Prompto asks, hoping he sounds more exasperated than… anything else, especially considering that his heart feels like it’s trying to escape his body entirely by way of his throat. Noctis doesn’t even give him the benefit of a response; in his peripheral vision, Prompto sees the simple pair of dark-colored underwear hit the ground and Noctis step out of them, kicking everything into a pile against the wall. God. _Noctis_ is dizzy? Prompto feels like he’s about to hit the ground, blood rushing hot in his face and ears.

 

The silence goes on a few moments longer than it takes to become awkward, before Prompto finally huffs out a short breath, steeling himself. He can do this.

 

“All right, all right, come on,” he says, turning and walking over to the unquestionably naked prince, keeping his eyes on the bath, levering his arm out for Noctis to grab onto for stability. He does so, though his grip is a bit weaker than Prompto might have expected— and he actually does wobble a bit as he tries lifting a leg to step into the tub.

 

Immediately forgetting his self-consciousness at the reminder that Noct _actually is sick_ here, and actually does need his help, Prompto quickly moves his other arm around Noctis’ waist to steady him. (He tries— oh, he tries, and absolutely fails— to not notice how soft the skin under his fingers is, how nice the slight slope of muscle and bone feels at his hip.) “Easy,” he murmurs, and Noctis nods in response, taking it slow as he finally manages to get his legs inside.

 

With a few more shifts and slow readjustments, Noctis is submerged, and he lets out a long, shuddering sigh of bliss, head tipping back against the rim of the tub as his eyes slide shut. “That’s so much better,” he veritably moans, and the sound of his voice is so hilariously indulged that Prompto can’t stop the grin from cracking his expression, even as he rubs at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly.

 

“Anything else his Highness needs before I go?” Prompto teases in an attempt to recover his cool, using the title in his usual, pseudo-insulting manner, “Phone? Drink? Peeled grape?”

 

Noctis’ eyes blink back open, his head rolling slightly to the side so he can give Prompto an odd look, one he can’t really decipher. He looks… somewhere between confused and slightly disappointed, which, aimed at Prompto, makes his heart give a slight lurch where it’s stuck in his throat. What is that face about?

 

“I thought you were kidding about leaving. You’re not gonna keep me company?” (Prompto has the distinct feeling, in a swell of nervousness, that he’s about to start babbling some _nonsense_ here— but he’s blessedly saved by Noctis pressing on, expression melting into something more amused and teasing.) “I mean, what if I fall asleep and slip under and drown? I thought you didn’t want me dying on your watch.”

 

Prompto huffs out a laugh, as much nervous energy as anything else, shaking his head a little. “You’re impossible,” is what actually escapes his lips, and his tone is far more _fond_ than he’d at all intended.

 

…And, as always, Noctis is impossible to refuse. Noctis seems to read the defeat in Prompto’s face, and grins, turning his head back to a neutral position and letting his eyes slip closed again. Prompto sighs a bit, steels himself for the second time since coming in here, and braces himself on the side of the tub in order to kneel down comfortably next to it. He keeps his eyes on Noctis’ face (out of respect, he’d like to think— or maybe, more accurately, safety), folding his arms on the rim of the tub and leaning his chin on them.

 

His expression tips over into something like a pout. It isn’t helping. His heartbeat is still racing and his cheeks feel as hot as the bathwater; with Noctis’ eyes closed, and no where else for Prompto to _look_ , he’s stuck running his gaze over the elegant angles and fine lines of the prince’s face. Much as Noctis would hate him saying so, he has a regal look about him, features refined— the slope of his brow gives way to the graceful line of his nose, high cheekbones accenting the depth of his eyes, mouth nicely shaped and lips just slightly full, a bit flushed from fever, and—

 

The column of his neck, the sculpted lines of his collarbones, lightly beaded with sweat. The soft dip of his sternum, obscuring beneath the water with the faint outlines of the muscles of his chest, the slope of his abdomen—

 

He’s staring.

 

Prompto starts a bit, every bit of red that had managed to fade from his face flooding back in with a vengeance, eyes quickly snapping up to Noctis’— which are thankfully still closed. The sudden tension drains out again in relief at not getting caught, though an embarrassed niggle of guilt stays behind, making him bury his chin a little deeper between his folded arms.

 

“You’re not actually falling asleep, are you?” he says in jest, just for something to _say_ , something to direct his attention to.

 

Noctis grins a bit, cracking one eye open to glance over at him, in a slightly mischievous look (that Prompto enjoys far too much). “What, didn’t want to wake me up with a kiss?”

 

It’s not the first time that Noct has faux-flirted with him like this, and he’s somewhat used to countering— though it takes him a second longer than it usually does. This whole situation has him flustered, and it’s affecting his responses… he can feel his damned blush deepening again, and he forces away the thought of doing just that in order to reply, just hoping his tone stays even and jovial. Anything to keep Noctis from catching on. (The matching grin on his own lips comes with surprising ease, though— regardless of the mess in his heart surrounding his feelings for him, Noct _is_ his best friend.) “Aren’t _you_ the prince? I think you’ve got that backwards.”

 

“Hm,” Noctis ponders, second eye opening as his expression becomes something less readable again, something Prompto would see as confused if it wasn’t for the oddly… tender look in his eyes, making some of that earlier tension crawl back up his spine, lovesick heart spinning circles trying to make heads or tails of it. “Right. Sleep as long as you want, Beauty.”

 

Prompto breathes out a small chuckle, half as a response to the volley and half in honest confusion; he’s not at all sure how to take the joke, and the fact that Noct is calling him by a nickname that sounds _shockingly_ intimate to his ears (it _isn’t_ , of course, and he’d do well to remember that) has another wave of heat flaring up into his face. He considers making an attempt to hide it— burying his face in his arms, turning around to face away, making an excuse to leave, any number of things, but… it’d be all the more conspicuous. (Not to mention his not particularly wanting to leave, now that he’s here.) If asked, he’ll blame it on the slight steam coming off the water.

 

“Is it helping? I mean, are you feeling any better yet?” Prompto asks, deftly changing the subject instead, doing his best to push down the little thread of anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. (Really, he thinks, how much more of himself acting like a lovesick idiot would Noctis be able to take before he’d feel too awkward to stick around? He’d rather keep that day in the distant future, so maybe… maybe it’s best that Noct get better as soon as possible.)

 

“A little,” Noctis replies, though it’s a bit distant. Prompto’s eyes flick back to Noctis’ face, noting the change in tone, and he catches the prince’s gaze for a moment— those dark blue eyes feeling like they’re burning a hole right through him, exposing everything. His expression rides the border between curious and concerned, and Prompto doesn’t understand it at all; what had he said? What had he done to cause that look?

 

Noctis sighs a little, leaning back and running a hand back through his hair, pushing back a few strands that had stuck to his forehead, smiling in a way that makes Prompto’s heart want to jump straight out of his chest. “I’m sorry,” he starts, giving a slightly rueful-sounding chuckle, “I’m really putting you out, aren’t I?”

 

“N-no!” Prompto responds just a bit too quickly, startled into sitting bolt upright where he’s knelt, “No, it’s— I don’t mind it at all, I just—“ His tongue feels too thick in his mouth all of a sudden, making words difficult; what is he even trying to say? Noctis has the wrong idea here, certainly, but he’s not sure how to fix it without showing his hand. “… I told you, right? I’ve never really… taken care of anyone. I’m just trying not to mess it up too bad.”

 

It’s apparently not quite the answer that Noct had been expecting, going by another slightly odd look he gives, but the smile on his lips doesn’t go anywhere. (Prompto wants to press his own mouth against that smile, draw out the notes of melancholy and disperse them away within himself. Why? Why is he smiling like that?) “No, I get that— you’re doing fine. ’S not what I meant, anyway.” His head tilts back towards Prompto again, eyes soft. “Probably should have asked before I just crashed in. I’m not… trying to push my luck or something, is all I mean.”

 

Push his luck? Prompto’s head is veritably spinning in confusion. He feels like he’s missing some vital piece of a puzzle— hell, he feels like he’s missing _most_ of them, he can’t figure out what the picture is. It’s likely that Noctis isn’t quite sure of what he’s saying himself, he thinks; fever can make someone sort of disoriented, right? Like the connections between thought and reality don’t quite line up?

 

Right. So Prompto decides to give him the benefit of the doubt, letting a smile of his own rise up into his features, reaching a hand out to smooth across the other boy’s forehead and stroke a few stuck strands back. (Oddly enough, his temperature feels cooler than it had when he’d been in the bed. Well, that’s how sweat works, he guesses. Makes sense.) “Really, Noct, it’s okay,” he assures him, voice a little softer, “Promise.”

 

Noctis keeps gazing at him for a long moment, with that terribly tender expression that’s threatening to make Prompto’s lovesick heart stop entirely— but he does seem to take the assurance, and he tilts his head back to neutral, smile lightening a bit. “… ‘Preciate it,” he says, warmly, and Prompto’s own smile twitches up a bit more— those aren’t cheap words with Noctis.

 

Out of words for the moment (none seem _necessary_ ), Prompto merely makes a soft, affirmative sound, leaning his chin on his arm again. (Belatedly, he realizes he’s still lightly toying with Noctis’ bangs, but— Noct doesn’t seem put-off, and he doesn’t really… _want_ to stop just yet, so. He doesn’t.)

 

“Anyway,” Noctis continues, tone a bit more to its normal cadence again, “I’m gonna make it up to you on our next date. I’ll even sneak you into the Citadel if you want, there’s this place near the top that’s got a great view—“

 

He cuts off when he looks at Prompto once more, which (as though seen and felt entirely from outside himself, merely an observer) is fair enough, considering Prompto looks like he’s just been hit by a train. It takes a long moment for words to actually pass through his throat, even despite his lips moving to form them. “What? Wait, what?”

 

Noctis blinks a few times, looking somewhere between surprised and confused. “Ah— I mean, we don’t have to do the Citadel, it was just an idea. There’s lots of nice places in Insomnia; I’ll figure something out.”

 

“No, stop, back up a second,” Prompto stutters, shaking his head as his blush deepens to an almost impossible degree, “Our next date?”

 

A few more blinks. “Yeah?” The moment of silence that follows is just enough to make a slightly awkward laugh bubble up from Noctis’ chest, and he moves his hand as though to run his fingers back through his hair, though instead loiters with his fingertips over Prompto’s. “Whatever you wanna do, I’m good…?”

 

None of this does anything to pop the needle over the groove of the broken record in Prompto’s head. “Our _next_ date?” he manages, putting in the emphasis mostly because— doesn’t _next_ imply _prior?_ Doesn’t that mean— “ _Date?_ ”

 

“… Prompto, are you okay?” Noctis shifts a bit, sitting up more fully in the tub in order to face the other boy better, expression knitting inward in a confused, mild frown. “I didn’t get _you_ sick, did I?”

 

“Just—“ Prompto nearly cuts him off, shaking his head again, hands drawing back to grip at the side of the tub, “Humor me, okay? We— date? Dates? Those were dates?”

 

Something seems to begin to dawn on Noctis’ face; dimly at first, just a glimmer. “Y…es?” he says slowly, tilting his head a little bit, “What else would they have been?”

 

“We’re dating?!”

 

“Yes?!” They stare at each other for a moment, wide-eyed in the silence of their briefly raised voices, before Noctis falters a little bit, a sudden anxious cringe skittering across his features. “I— unless you— don’t want to anymore?”

 

Prompto physically jolts, shaking his head sharply in immediate response, “No, I didn’t say that! I didn’t—“ He lets out a breath, chest hurting slightly like he’s simply holding in too much air. “I just— I didn’t know we _were!_ ”

 

Noctis is quiet again for a moment, though thankfully that (heart-wrenching) little wave of anxiety seems to have passed— in its place, something incredibly soft blooms amidst sudden understanding and disbelief. “Wait. You. You really didn’t know?”

 

“You never said anything!” Prompto exclaims, sitting back on his heels, and briefly staring into the middle distance as his brain flies over the past few months, poring over every detail at breakneck speed. (Maybe, he thinks hectically, maybe it’s _not_ usual for people who aren’t dating to be as affectionate as they are with each other, spending as much time together as they do, touching each other so often, falling asleep together.) “Wait, wait,” he continues, pushing up to lean closer to Noctis, staring into his eyes like he’s looking for some epiphany that’ll make all the pieces come together, “If we’ve been dating, why haven’t you ever kissed me or anything?”

 

That terribly soft look on Noctis’ face only deepens, though his eyes dodge to the side for a moment as he huffs a soft, good-natured laugh, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head for a second, “I tried a couple of times. You seemed nervous when I did, though, so I… I didn’t want to push you. If you weren’t ready, I mean.”

 

Prompto’s honestly somewhat surprised that his heart is still beating, at this point. Not only is the answer _ridiculous_ (he can barely remember a time that he didn’t want Noct to kiss him!), but it’s… so sweet. It’s so _kind,_ it’s so like Noct, and… god. He can hardly breathe through the swell in his chest. “If I wasn’t— Noct!” He gives a sharp, disbelieving laugh, hands gripping tightly enough at the edge of the tub to whiten his knuckles, pushing further up, eyes wide,“I’ve wanted you to kiss me since I was like, eight—“

 

He doesn’t get much of an opportunity to continue. Noctis flicks his eyes back to Prompto’s, widening a bit themselves, like he’s seeing something brand new… and in a blur of just a few seconds, he surges up and grabs Prompto around the waist like he’s trying to embrace him. But the angle’s all wrong and Noct loses his strength quickly, his weight pulling back, sending the other boy completely off-balance— and toppling forward into the tub as well.

 

Miraculously, Prompto manages to not inhale a lung’s worth of water, but he hardly has the time to do so in the first place; with a heavy splutter and a tangle of limbs (water sloshing over the side of the tub), Noctis pulls him up with his hands on either side of Prompto’s face, staring into his eyes in wide-eyed wonder for the half-second before he yanks him in, kissing him full on the mouth. Once, twice, again, pushing out to his cheeks and back to his lips—

 

Prompto’s almost certain his heart has stopped. Maybe this is the afterlife? He’s breathless; he’s barely even _moving,_ stunned into stasis, feeling the softness of Noctis’ mouth all over his face but not really _registering_ it until— it slams into him all at once. He’s tangled up in Noctis, who’s kissing him. Noct is kissing him.

 

And he’s just _sitting there._

 

Almost in the exact moment that Noctis slows down, tensing slightly as though he’s becoming anxious at Prompto being more or less frozen in place, Prompto snaps back to his senses and throws his arms around Noctis’ shoulders (even as bogged down by his saturated clothes as he is), sending more water flying as he returns those kisses, every bit as haphazard as they’re being given. (It feels like a knot in his chest unraveling, letting loose the torrent behind it, something that’s been waiting to break free and held back for so long that he’d simply gotten used to the pressure; it feels like relief, like drowning, like resurrection, like rapture. The kisses themselves are, frankly, terrible— too hard, too aimless, too dry— but the fact that they’re happening at all is more than enough.)

 

It feels like both a long time and entirely too soon that they part, though Noctis’ hands remain where they are at the sides of Prompto’s face as they stare each other in slightly flushed shock, waiting for sense to come rushing back as they evaluate the situation.

 

The situation being: Prompto is fully clothed and sunk into a now-barely-half-filled tub, he’s wrapped around the very naked prince, their lips are slightly reddened from the pressure of their frantic kisses, the other half of the bathwater is all over the tile floor, and they are most definitely dating.

 

Sense comes back.

 

They burst into laughter, embracing tightly.

 

—————

 

It’s breezier than Prompto likes, considering the painstaking effort he’d put into making his hair look perfect. His free hand comes up as though to protect it a bit as he steps down from the small staircase of the rooftop exit.

 

The other hand, laced with Noctis’, gets a bit of a squeeze as the prince chuckles, looking over his shoulder in charmed amusement. “I told you already, you look great. Don’t worry about it.”

 

A little flush of heat rises up into Prompto’s face, but he relents, grinning back and letting Noctis lead him on.

 

True to Noctis’ word, the view is amazing. Insomnia glitters against the night sky, yellows and blues and reds shifting and changing, moonlight soaking everything that electric lights don’t touch. Music faintly swirls on the breeze. The whole thing is familiar and sweet; it’s home. It’s Noctis’. It’s theirs.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Prompto breathes, half-unaware he’d said it, and he squeezes their tangled fingers a little, like he still can’t quite believe they’re there. He’s smiling softly, and he brushes a stray lock of hair back behind his ear with the free hand in a slightly insecure motion. “Hey… Noct. Thanks for… bringing me here.”

 

It isn’t really what he meant to say. He’d meant ‘thanks for being with me.’ He’d meant ‘thanks for letting me see this part of you.’ He’d meant ‘I love you, more than you know.’

 

Noctis is quiet for a moment, before he moves, turning to face the other boy. His free hand comes up to Prompto’s jawline, and he pulls them together, soft eyes searching his face for a moment— before they slide closed, and he leans in, gently pressing his lips to Prompto’s.

 

It’s entirely different than the messy, hectic kisses from a few days before; this is soft, pliant, and Prompto sinks into it with a blissful sigh, chest feeling full to bursting.

 

Maybe Noctis had understood him after all.

 

—————

 

Three days later, Prompto wakes up sneezing.

 


End file.
